Werewolves in the Woods
by Lil' Quill
Summary: Fleur encounters someone unexpected on the way to Grandmother Apolline's house. Harry Potter/Red Riding Hood (fairy tale story) crossover!


Werevolves in the Woods

Summary: Fleur encounters someone unexpected on the way to Grandmother Apolline's house.

A/N: Hey guys! Round 12 of the QLFC, OMG, sooo close to finals! Thanks for reading! Now, into the prompts:

Main prompt: crossover (mine is with the Misc. genre, specifically, fairytales.)

Optional prompts:

2\. (quote) "One day, you will be old to start reading fairytales again." - C.S. Lewis

9\. (nursery rhyme) Five Little Ducks

15\. (word) lantern

Sit back, relax, and enjoy!

"One day, you will be old to start reading fairytales again." - C.S. Lewis

"Fleur, dear, please promise me you'll be careful!" her mother tittered anxiously, wringing her hands. In Fleur's opinion, her mother was far, far too anxious for this monthly trip to Grandmother Apolline's house, one that she'd completed countless times before.

"Mama, I promise," Fleur sighed, picking up the basket of delicious homemade treats – bread, cookies, and tarts of all kinds – and a lantern (for the walk home, which was likely going to be in the dark) with an exasperated sort of daintiness.

"And Fleur–"

By this time, Fleur started to feel rather impatient, to the point where she almost snapped at her mother. Instead, she calmed herself and responses with a simple "What?"

"Please don't end up like the others. Not like – not like Gabrielle."

Throat suddenly feeling tight, Fleur nodded stiffly. Memories of her beautiful, beaming sister who had mysteriously disappeared into the forest flashed before her eyelids. She whirled around and walked out of the door before her mother could see the tears that had collected in her eyes as she drew her bright red cloak tightly around her tall, slender frame.

Her little French village, located just on the outskirts of the woods, hadn't been much of a sight until a sudden influx of people had arrived as an alternative to the crowded cities. It was composed of pretty huts and cottages full of neighbors that everyone was friendly with.

As much as Fleur loved her village, she couldn't help but feel unsettled by the vast expanse of forest so near it, for as soon as she entered those deep, dark woods, she became small, cold, insignificant, prey for whatever creatures lurked

Prey for whatever creatures had taken Gabrielle Delacour.

Somewhere along the line, a sharp contrast had developed between "Gabrielle Delacour, the missing girl" and "Little Gabrielle, Fleur's sister". Missing Gabrielle was a tragedy, a dark omen whose news spread over the entire town's expanse, not just the little woodside place where Delacours lived; Little Gabrielle was a girl full of sunshine who charmed everyone she met, whose glowing face, pale hair, and fair features would have made a girl as beautiful as her gorgeous sister, whose true identity was known to them and only them.

Initially, Fleur, wrapped in thought, hadn't noticed how suddenly the trees seemed to loom above her like taloned, gargantuan creatures, or how thick foliage and grey clouds blocked out the sky, or how the birdsong seemed to have died away. When the realization came crashing down upon her, everything changed; the snap of a twig underfoot was a monster lurking somewhere in the darkness; a raven flying overhead was a winged demon.

Suddenly, everything was the thing that had taken those four children, including Gabrielle, from their families, their homes.

Fleur burrowed herself even deeper into her crimson cloak, clutching the basket of food for her grandmother in front of her heart almost as a rather flimsy shield.

Well, at least she wouldn't immediately starve out here if she got lost, she thought wryly. She didn't even bother to quell her unease with calming nothings.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw some bushes rustle.

Figment of her imagination? Of course not; there was no point in attempting to console herself.

And then a figure emerged. He was tall of stature and dressed in simple clothing. What really caught Fleur's eye was the flaming red of his hair.

She was the first to speak, greeting him with a cautious, "Bonjour, Monsieur."

He screwed up his face in what appeared to be great concentration, finally replying with a "Bon...jour?"

Fleur immediately sighed and rolled her eyes. It was a Brit, a foreigner. She reverted to her heavily accented english. "Hello. What are you doing out here?"

"Oh, um, I live here."

Was it just her, or was he acting especially awkward around her? He would look at her, blush a smidge, and then look away quickly, scratching his head. Completely aware of how attractive men found her physical appearance, Fleur didn't bat an eyelash. Sure, she might have fluttered them a little for effect – after all, this man was rather good-looking – but nothing more.

"Really? Where?"

"Just–just close by."

"Do you perhaps know Grandmother Apolline?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, she lives somewhere around here, doesn't she? Really nice lady. And still looks so young. Considering that she's your grandmother, of course."

"Thank you. She hasn't ever mentioned you, though."

"Oh, yeah, we only met each other once."

"Hmm. What's your name?"

"Weasley. Bill Weasley."

"Well, bonjour, Bill. I'm Fleur Delacour, from Beauxbatons, the town just out there."

Bill frowned at that. "Delacour? Like Gabrielle Delacour?"

He must have seen something change in her demeanor, as his eyes immediately softened. He approached her and draped his lean, muscled arm over her shoulders.

"You knew her, didn't you? You must've been heartbroken when that bloody great wolf got to her. And those other children, too."

After that little phrase in his statement, Fleur had stopped paying attention. "Wolf? What about a wolf? Nobody's mentioned one before."

Bill seemed to regret saying those words, but his next statement was rather smooth; Fleur supposed he had gotten over the initial awkwardness. "Wasn't that a wild myth down there in Beauxbatons? Some woodsman spotted a giant black monster of a wolf?"

"I'm not sure, I never really payed attention to what they were saying. She was my sister, after all. I didn't want to sully my loss with stupid stories from stupid people who never had these things happen to them."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's not your fault."

"I lost someone, too, you know."

"Which one of the bodies?"

"The one with half his face clawed off. He was my brother Ron's friend. His name was Colin Creevey. Ron invited them over and they were playing a game and Colin ran out into the woods and the next day–"

Fleur gave him a watery smile. "You understand my loss."

"I do, regrettably."

"Oh, and you also need to improve your French. That just won't do."

"And you your english. It's horribly accented."

"Hmph. At least everyone else can understand me."

"Me, just barely. I'm still terrible with French. We moved here only a couple months ago. We're in the Burrow, just near Ottery St. Catchpole. Ask your grandmother about it."

"I can teach you French."

"And I can teach you english."

Fleur laughed easily, the pain ebbing away. "I'll ask Grandmother Apolline about your home. We'll meet there tomorrow, at noon."

"It's a date."

She smiled her dazzling smile. "Well, I'm going off to my Grandmother's right now, with this basket of food. See you soon?"

"Of course."

Fleur left her Grandmother Apolline's in a happy daze, thoughts of Bill still flashing through her mind. The sunset lit everything up brilliantly in hues that matched those of her cloak's. She pulled the red hood up over her pale blonde hair; it was getting cold.

On her walk back home, Fleur spotted something out of the corner of her eye: a wolf. She was set on edge, until she got a closer glimpse of it. It had a brownish, slightly russet coat, and it emitted an aura that relaxed her; this wolf wasn't going to do her any harm, and it definitely wasn't the one who had taken the children.

Best of all, its eyes were the same captivating blue as Bill Weasley's.

A/N: Annnd scene! How was it? I'd love to hear your feedback, whether it's a review, a PM, or a favorite! Constructive criticism is, as always, much appreciated!

Ink on!

Lil' Quill


End file.
